


Luck and Sunlight

by SilhouetteInWords



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU, Child Abuse, Gen, fire bending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilhouetteInWords/pseuds/SilhouetteInWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Fire Lord Ozai was a cruel, abusive father to his children, but a wise benevolent ruler to his people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epilogue

The multitude of small noises that made up the closest to silence the Royal Palace ever achieved filtered slowly in through Zuko’s bedroom window. Outside guards paced back and forth, impatiently waiting for the dawn shift to finish so they could return home to their families and soft warm beds. The few small birds that lived in the gardens of rich nobles twittered in the trees that lined the royal families own stretch of rare shrubs and carefully manicured fire-lilies. Across the hall, Azula shifted, sliding out of bed just as the sun peeked over the horizon. She blinked her gradual way to wakefulness as its fire called her, and began dressing in her training clothes.  
An eleven year old Zuko opened his own eyes and stared up at the red and gold enamelled ceiling above him as he relaxed his muscles back into his matrass. Mother had always said rising at sunrise was silly and besides, he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere accept the gardens until she was up which wouldn’t be for a few hours.  
There was no hurry.  
Zuko closed his eyes, shutting out the sunlight and rolled over, trying to remove the fire's pull from his muscles so he could sleep. He’d been having a dream about his mother, she’d been telling him not to ‘forget who he was’, he’d tell her about it later.  
Zuko pulled to sheets back over his head as other memories from the night before began flooding back. He’d tried to firebend for grandfather, father had must have been furious but mother would talk to him. Azula had taunted him, saying Dad was going to kill him but Azula always lied. Dad wouldn’t do that. Mom wouldn’t let him.

Something pressed into Zuko’s side and he rolled over, groaning softly in his sleep.  
“Wake up, Zuzu!” his sister’s voice cut through the dim quiet of his room. He sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
“Go away, Azula!” he grunted, pushing her off the bed. There was a thud as his little sister hit the bedroom floor. Zuko lowered his chubby fists to look at her.  
“What to do you want?”  
Azula glared daggers at him as she stood up.  
“Mother’s gone,” she hissed, “just thought you should know.” Without another word she turned and left, pulling the screen closed behind her.  
Zuko blinked, unconsciously sliding his feet to the floor. His mother couldn’t be gone! No, Azula was lying. Azula always lied.  
All the same, Zuko pulled on his shoes and ran, still wearing his night-shirt to his parent’s room. His father wouldn’t be there, Prince Ozai got up to train at sunrise like Azula. Pulling the screen back, Zuko peaked across at the large four-poster bed he used to climb into when he was little and afraid the Kemurikagure would come and take him away. The sheets were carefully smoothed, the corners tucked in and pillows arranged neatly.  
The servants had already been.  
Fighting back the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, Zuko closed the door and turned angrily to one of the guards, standing statue like outside his Parent’s room.  
“Where is my mother?” he asked, glaring up at the man who continued staring straight ahead.  
“Princess Ursa didn’t come to bed last night but Prince Ozai says it is nothing to be concerned about,” the guard replied, still not looking at him.  
“No, you’re lying!” Zuko screamed. The man didn’t respond to that.  
Without another word Zuko turned and ran. He went to the kitchens but his mother hadn’t called for breakfast that morning. He went to the palace seamstress but she wasn’t there either. In desperation he even went to the palace training yard but only Azula was there, learning one of the intermediate forms.  
Shivering and pulling the thin fabric of his nightshirt closer around him, Zuko began slowly making his way back to his room.  
She couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t. She wouldn’t do that. She was his mother. She couldn’t just leave! Zuko looked up as he entered the terrace which surrounded the palace gardens, hoping against hope to see her sitting feeding the turtle-ducks like they had only yesterday. He’d be good this time, he wouldn’t through anything at the little creatures. He’d only been trying to make her agree with him about Azula.  
But the figure standing before the pond was far too tall and broad to be mother. There was too much tension in the neck and the hair-piece wasn’t hers.  
Zuko took a step towards his father, intent on asking him where mum was, but stopped, looking down at the sleeves of thin red silk that hung loose from his arms. His father would not approve of him running about the palace undressed. Of that Zuko could be very sure. Trying not to make too much noise for fear his father would look over and see him, Zuko sprinted around the garden’s not stopping until he reached his own room.  
The bed had been made and there were rice balls and mango sitting on his bedside table but Zuko wasn’t hungry. He’d never been less hungry in his life. Pulling the silk shift over his head Zuko kicked off his shoes and began dressing as fast as he could, somehow terrified that his father would leave the gardens and take with him Zuko’s only chance of ever finding his mother. He dragged clothes out of closet without stopping for the shifts he sent flying. There was a balloon inflating in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. It would be alright. It had to. She couldn’t be gone.  
Still twisting his feet into his shoes, Zuko dashed out the still opened screen door and leaped the small barrier that lined the terrace, landing with a rustle in one of the flower beds.  
His father had to have heard but he didn’t turn.  
Zuko staggered out of the fire-lilies and hurried up the small artificial hill towards his father’s motionless figure.  
“Where is she?” he asked, as soon as he was close enough to do so without shouting.  
His father still didn’t turn.  
That was what convinced him. If his father had spun around and told him off, had walked away telling him to ask the savants for whatever he wanted, had done anything but stand there gazing out at nothing, Zuko would have known it was all right, that nothing was wrong. That everything was just as it should be.  
But his father said nothing, he simply stared.  
And that was how Zuko knew that his mother was really gone. The balloon inside his chest slowly deflated, leaving only a cold empty space in its wake. He turned away without a word and began slowly making his way back to his room, his feet tracing the familiar root automatically as his mind sat frozen in horror and simply stared out his eyes at a world without Princess Ursa.  
Numbly, Zuko closed the door to his room behind him looked up to see his breakfast still sitting on the table. In a sudden rage at the servants for daring to treat this like a normal day he lifted the tray and flung it out the window, spattering the curtains with mango strips and covering the path outside in clumps of rice.  
Then he fell face first onto his mattress and sobbed until they came to tell him his father was Fire Lord.


	2. Because you are a Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not totally sure about this story, something feels off about it but maybe that's just me easing in, leave a comment and tell me what you think.

Zuko sniffled as Lo forced him into the new mourning clothes that had been made for him just an hour ago, after Fire Lord Azulon’s doctor had hesitantly knocked on his bedroom door with a cup on jasmine tea and a concerned expression, only to find his worst fears realised. Needless to say that man had lost his job and was relieved it wasn’t his head.  
“Where is Mummy?” Zuko whined as she tied the white and gold boots onto his small feet.  
“Your mother’s whereabouts are unknown, Prince Zuko,” Lo replied without looking up.  
Prince Zuko. The title still sounded horribly wrong to him.  
“Why do I have to go?” he asked, crossing his arms and glaring up at the old woman who still didn’t deign to look at him. She stood up and began taking the red silk ribbon out of his hair and replacing it with a fresh one.  
“Your grandfather is dead and your father is to be crowned Fire Lord,” she replied, even though to Zuko’s young ears that did not sound like a reason he had to attend.  
There was the sound of Azula’s bedroom door opening and a moment later, Zuko’s followed. Li entered, an already dressed Azula following behind her.  
“The young prince does not want to attend the ceremony,” Lo told her sister, letting a small amount of condescension enter her voice. Azula’s laughter cut through any reply Li might have been about to make.  
“Your ridiculous, Zuzu!” she taunted.  
“Shut up!” Zuko yelled, trying to pull himself forward as the two woman finished retying his hair.  
“Ha-Ha! I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad names me his heir instead if you,” she danced back as he stood up but Lo and Li each took hold of one of his arms, effectively preventing the young prince from throwing himself at his sister despite valiant efforts on his part.  
“The coronation will begin shortly,” one of the sister’s intoned and the pair led the two glaring children from the room.

As far as Zuko was concerned His father’s coronation and the following ceremonies of fealty from army officials were remarkable only in that nobody seemed at all interested in why mother wasn’t there. It was like she’d just vanished from the face of the earth and nobody but Zuko seemed to know or care that she’d ever been here at all.  
Lo and Li remained close by the two children throughout the proceedings, although Azula, as they kept pointing out to him, didn’t seem to need the guidance of an adult to know her duty at this most solemn event.  
Dinner was eventually served and Azula’s two friends, Mai and Ty Lee, came to join the royal pair along with several other officials’ children who were all struggling as hard as Zuko not to look bored. He didn’t feel like speaking to them. Sensing his discomfort, Mai timidly asked him if Lady Ursa was feeling well but the twins wasted no time in telling her it was not her place to pry into the affairs of the royal family.  
When the gong finally sounded, signalling the end of the event, Zuko jumped quickly to his feet, looking around for his father. Surly now that business was finished he could ask about his mother. Father must know something, especially now that he was Fire Lord.  
Zuko’s face lit up when he saw the tall familiar figure making its way towards him through the fast dwindling crowd but Fire Lord Ozai did not return his son’s greeting.  
“Take Princess Azula to bed,” he instructed the twins without taking his eyes from Zuko, “I must speak with my son.”  
Ozai turned and began walking off across the courtyard, not waiting for a reply. Zuko was vaguely aware of Azula grinning as she was ushered off in the direction of the gardens but he didn’t look back as he hurried to catch up with his father’s receding figure.  
Surly now father was going to explain where mother had gone and when she would be back.  
Zuko was so sure of this he didn’t even question why he was being lead towards his father’s study instead of the family apartments. Even when Ozai crossed the room to the cabinet in which he kept seals and letter openers, Zuko didn’t falter, simply pausing to close the door when instructed.  
“Take off your shirt and place your hands on my desk, Prince Zuko,” he father instructed, turning and brandishing a long willow cane.  
“What?” Zuko stared in shock at the instrument in his father’s hand.  
“I’m am not inclined to repeat myself Prince Zuko,” his father replied.  
“But…I…Why?” Zuko stuttered, backing away as his father advanced.  
Sneering, Ozai reached forward and grabbed his son but the pony tail, using his other hand to sear a ragged slash down the back of his shirt.  
The small boy screamed as the flames licked at his skin on the way past.  
“Firstly,” Ozai raised the cane and brought it down in several quick stripes across his son’s pale skin, eliciting another yell from the boy.  
“Because you are crying like an infant!” The next few lashes brought only muffled squeaks and Ozai could tell his son was now actively keeping his cries locked behind clenched teeth.  
“Secondly, for your disobedience a moment ago,” Zuko’s body convulsed with each stroke of the cane and the tiny hands encircling his wrist squeezed with a strength he hadn’t known his son possessed.  
“Thirdly, for running about the palace in your night things all morning, fourthly for sleeping when you should have been training, fifthly for your ridiculous display yesterday and most importantly.”  
Ozai paused his merciless lashing for a moment and in the silence the only sounds Zuko could make out were his father’s panting and his own hushed sobs.  
“Because you are a Prince,” his father’s words were hot gravel in his ear as the cane came down in a final burning wheel.  
“Stand in the corner,” his father instructed, pushing his son away abruptly and taking a seat at his desk.  
Still sobbing as quietly as he could Zuko walked towards the wall and hid his face in its shadow.  
“Face me,” his father barked.  
Keeping his eyes on the floor, Zuko turned to his father. In his peripheral vision he saw Ozai look down at his desk and begin work.  
The skin on his back burned and he felt sure he had slashes bleeding across his skin. The pain was horrible, shocking in its intensity. Zuko hadn’t known he had so much feeling in that expanse of bare skin. It was like shards of hot glass digging into his skin and Zuko had to focus all his efforts on keeping his mouth filled with tongue and teeth so that the great heaving sobs that raked his frame wouldn’t float out into his father’s office.  
Around him the sunset watch ended and the guards muttered greetings mixed with farewells to those that came to relieve them, thanking Agni that they’d gotten an early shift. At the other end of the palace Azula drifted off to sleep. The lanterns of Caldera were lit outside and the city slowly trailed off to bed.  
Zuko’s sobs eventually stilled and as the minutes ticked by he began to let his eyes wonder the room. Other than the cabinet from which his father had taken the cane, which still sat menacingly across the front of his desk, there was only a large shelf filled with scrolls and the desk at which his father sat reading by the light of the brackets in three of the rooms four walls. The place was bare and harsh, everything in it served a purpose. In other words it fit the man to which it belonged.  
“Wipe your face,” Zuko jumped at his father’s words but this time wasted not a moment in complying.  
“Come here,” Ozai commanded, beckoning. Zuko struggled not to shiver as he did so, missing the warmth of his new clothes which now lay in burned tatters on the floor.  
The new Fire Lord said nothing as he looked at his half naked son, this boy who had inadvertently handed him the throne. The silence stretched on for several minutes until Zuko eventually broke it.  
“Where is mother?” he asked quietly, knowing as he did so that the question would not please the man behind the desk.  
Ozai leaned forward and slapped him hard enough to turn his face to the wall.  
“That is none of your concern!” he snarled. Zuko nodded, fighting to hold back fresh tears as he licked the stinging skin at the corner of his mouth.  
“Now put this on top on the cabinet and go to bed,” Ozai nodded at the cane on his desk, already turning his attention back to his papers.  
Zuko lifted the light strip of wood gingerly and placed it where his father had indicated, bowed at the door, and left.  
The next morning he met Azula in the corridor wearing the light pants beginners trained in, she didn’t comment on the purpling welts across his back but Zuko was too busy being tired and wishing he could go back to bed to think anything of it.


	3. You're worthless

Across the yard, Zuko could see his sister standing between two palace guards while her master, explained the first kata of the basic set.   
Firebending was taught in three primary stages; beginner, intermediate and combat. It had been law, ever before Sozin, that every child who could bend must learn the beginner’s forms, without they were considered a danger to themselves and those around them, never permitted to train without supervision and not allowed to enter festival competitions or Agni Kai. Although they would have been insane to try anyway.   
Benders who wished to enter the army had to further master the intermediate forms, which were sometimes called ‘dancers forms’ due to their complicated transitions and general lack of combat applications. Intermediate forms where intended to build control and agility, but where rarely useful for any practical purpose.   
And then there were the combat forms, which were split into two sets; basic and advanced. If you managed to master both you were officially intituled to call yourself a master and could also apply for the position of general, not that such a high rank was ever bestowed on bending ability alone but skill was still a requirement for high military ranking.  
If you managed only the basic set you could still qualified to join the imperial firebenders but that was usually a transient position considered an important training stage for those who intended to reach higher.  
Moving upon some command Zuko couldn’t hear, his sister leaped, performing a split in mid-air and sending twin fire blasts at each of the palace guards. Her master was already shouting something at her before she landed and Zuko lowered his eyes in frustration.   
Without warning a fist came down and cuffed him across the back of the neck.  
“Lower,” Master Wang Vaan ordered.  
His thighs shuddering from the strain Zuko lowered his horse stance closer to the paving stones.  
“Now, again!” his master yelled.   
Zuko lent to his left and tried to pull his right foot out from under him but just like each time previously, his simply stumbled forward and fell to the ground.  
“Pathetic!” his master yelled from behind him, kicking Zuko in one of his burning thighs as he did so.  
“I have a class of eight year olds of more use to this nation then you, ready to begin learning intermediate forms while their Crown Prince still can’t manage the beginner’s, pathetic!”   
The gong sounded from the lookout tower, sparing Zuko from having to formulate a reply and signalling the end of the first watch of the day as well as Zuko’s lesson. He stood and made his way shakily toward the exit.   
A month of rising a dawn and training for three hours before breakfast had hardened the young prince’s muscles and stripped him of some of the soft flesh of childhood but standing with his thighs parallel to the ground for twenty minutes as punishment for failing yet again had still left him shaky and exhausted.   
“Having a bad day are we, Zuzu?” his sister’s voice rang out behind him. Zuko didn’t turn to answer her.   
“Are the beginner’s forms hard for you?” Azula skipped up next to him and smiled her sweet, false smile.  
“Shut up, Azula,” Zuko replied, knowing full well she wouldn’t.   
“I finished the beginner’s forms when I was six!” she reminded him gleefully, falling into step next her stumbling brother as they entered the palaces northwest wing.  
“Maybe you’d like me to teach you some,” she taunted. Zuko spun to look at her, jealousy pumping through his tired muscles like hot magma. She was flaming perfect and it wasn’t fair!  
“Why on earth would you do that? If I were better father could just marry you off and be rid of you!”   
Azula went white and stopped walking. Around them, Zuko was vaguely aware of servants halting, then carefully backing away from the pair.   
“Father would never do that! He’s going to make me Firelord after him,” Azula shrieked, so loudly that Zuko took a step back in surprise.  
“Firelord Azula?” Zuko shot back, not sure where the sneer distorting his features had come from and not really caring.  
“You think father could make you Crown Princess even if he wanted to? You’re a girl, Azula!”  
“So what!” she screamed, smoke rising from the shoulders of her leather training shirt. Zuko grinned wickedly and crossed his arms across his own bare chest.   
“So have you ever heard of a female Firelord?” he asked, no longer shouting.  
“No, but before Sozin there could have been-” she began uncertainly.  
“Or a female general, or even an admiral?” he asked. Azula was silent, staring at him in horror.  
“Face it little sister, you’re worthless,” he grinned, watching her face pale further as she tried not to cry.  
“If you don’t believe me then go ahead, teach me,” Zuko sneered, turning away and leaving her to trail after him.   
Neither spoke till they reached their family’s apartments. Firelord Ozai was already sitting eating his breakfast, wearing only a light robe over his training clothes.   
“Sit,” he instructed, as his two children filed in quietly. Zuko made a move towards the table but his father stopped him.  
“Not there,” Ozai said, reaching out to fill his plate with soft coconut rice.  
“By the wall,” startled, Zuko obeyed, Azula following suet. They knelt quietly while their father ate and then waited as the servants carried the breakfast things away.   
“I don’t know what you were arguing about earlier,” their father said as he stood up.  
“Nor do I care. But next time the pair of you make such a seen in the halls you’ll be losing a lot more that breakfast I can assure you,” he left without another word, mind already turning to spice exports and other ways to stabilise what Firelord Azulon had left of the national economy.  
The two siblings were silent for a moment in the wake of their father’s threat.  
“Come on,” Azula stood up, and turned to glare at her brother.  
“Come on what?” Zuko replied, already missing the lost meal as his stomach growled.  
“I’ll teach you than if you’re so sure,” Azula challenged. Zuko rose, his thighs giving only a dull protest after the respite. His body was becoming far more resilient.  
“Unless you’re scared,” Azula tilted her head to one side, grinning at his indecision.   
On the one hand Zuko didn’t want his sister teaching him. A more humiliating and potentially painful way to spend his morning he could hardly conceive. On the other he wasn’t about to give in.  
“Okay than,” Azula nodded, already leading the way back towards the training yard.  
“Which form are you learning?” she asked, and Zuko was surprised to hear a note of professionality in her voice.  
“The twenty-eighth,” he told her grudgingly. There were only thirty beginner forms but three to go or thirteen, he was still miles away from starting the combat sets.  
“Poor Zuzu,” his sister mocked as they reached the yard once more and made their way towards the far end so as not to get in the way of Wang Vaan’s eight year olds, whom Zuko could see warming up for their lesson.   
“Show me,” Azula ordered, stepping away to give him room.   
Zuko took a deep breath, struggled for a moment to think of a means of backing out of this situation, then raised his arms and began the preparation, refusing to look at his sister as he did so. As usual, he immediately fell to the ground when he attempted the final move of the form.   
Azula tilted her head, watching him as he rose but didn’t speak for a long moment.   
“Do it again,” she said finally, “just the last move.”  
Zuko obeyed, gritting his teeth as he pulled his foot from under him and fell to the cabals, slamming his elbow against the hard stone.  
“Run through all the beginner forms,” his sister told him.  
“Why?” Zuko asked, getting up and resisting the urge to rub his bruised arm.  
“Just do it, Zuzu,” she told him.   
Glaring furiously, Zuko began the first form.   
“What’s your master’s name?” Azula asked as he worked.  
“Master Wang Vaan,” Zuko told her.   
“Has he always been your – do that kick again but turn your heel out – your master?” she asked, watching him with a look of focus he’d rarely seen on her face.   
“Yes, grandfather chose him for me just after I turned two,” Zuko replied, wondering why she cared as he repeated the form, and surprised at how much easier it suddenly was to aim and control the fire blasting from his foot. He dropped into the finished stance and smoothly began the second form.  
“Does – aim with your palm not the bass of you wrist – does father ever come and watch your lessons?” she asked.  
“No,” Zuko admitted, repeating the form as she’d told him, his eyes widening at the size of the fire blast that burst from his skin.   
“How does this help me with the twenty-eighth form?”   
“Do the third,” Azula replied, ignoring his question.   
Zuko glared at her, but did as he was told, widening the gap between his arms when she instructed him. The morning turned to afternoon as Azula retaught him forms he’d learned as a child, improving almost every move he’d ever been taught in some small way. Zuko was shocked by how much easier Firebending felt all of a sudden. Chatting casually about the moves and constantly interjecting small changes that made them both more powerful and easier to perform, Azula showed him a new, easier way of moving through stances he’d hated for a long as he could remember.   
By the time they reached the twenty-eighth form Zuko barely recognised the moves he’d been struggling to learn for almost a week. They flowed easily and naturally from one another, each a culmination point of an earlier form he’d already run through. But he still stumbled when he reached the deep kick, unable to straighten on one leg from a horse stance.  
“That motion is an arch not an upwards kick,” Zuko looked up at his sister as he once again rose from the ground. Azula sank into a horse stance to demonstrate.   
“If you try to shift your weight and kick,” she jerked her right leg to demonstrate, then quickly replaced it as she swayed and nearly lost her balance, “you’ll always fall. Anatomically you can’t kick upwards from that position. The idea is to do a sweeping kick up into the face of your opponent and use the fire blast to stabilise yourself so you don’t fall.”  
Azula turned her body to the left and performed a half moon kick, a wheel of flames blasting from her foot. She landed smoothly in the crouch that finished the form.  
“Try it,” his sister ordered.   
Zuko lowered himself into the horse stance, closing his eyes briefly in order to visualise what Azula had done, then turned his body and let the energy flow out of his foot in a fire blast that jerked his weight to one side and through his leg into the air. Zuko spun and landed on his back.  
“Now practice it,” Azula told him, giggling nastily. Zuko stood up glaring at her.   
His glare didn’t last.  
“Thanks,” he muttered grudgingly. Azula nodded.  
“Zuzu,” she began as he recommenced the form from the beginning.  
“Yeah?” he replied.  
“Get father to come and watch your lesson tomorrow,” he stopped and stared at her.   
“Why and how?” he asked incredulously.  
“He’s meeting with his advisors in his office tonight after dinner,” she told him, then smirked.  
“Interrupt them.”   
Zuko’s jaw dropped.  
“He’ll flay me alive!” he gasped, his voice rising.  
“Yes, but he’ll come,” she replied evenly.  
“If you think you can get me beaten just by-” Zuko began.  
“Fine then, don’t,” Azula interrupted, walking away across the training yard.   
He was about to follow her when something caught his attention. On the other side of the expanse of blackened rock, behind the many small heads of the noblemen’s children he was training, Master Wang Vaan was watching him.  
And Zuko had never seen the man look more horrified.


	4. A privilege I reserve for myself

Zuko stood with his arms crossed and his back against the wall staring down his father’s office door. There was a part of him that knew Azula was probably just trying to get him into trouble. And succeeding wonderfully. But all the same, here he was.  
The lines that crisscrossed his back had faded to yellow and green over that past month but Zuko still couldn’t bear to sleep on them. He should just go back to bed and let his father finish his meeting. Nothing good could possibly come of this.  
On the one hand he was better, after Azula had left he’d gone over the form a few more time before the gong called him into lunch and he felt certain he had it now. But on the other he had a beginner’s form that was nothing of which to be proud.  
Yet Azula had helped him, why do so and then trick him.  
But what else could this be.  
I’m sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realise you were busy. I just wanted to ask…  
But there were guards right there. Zuko looked to either side of the door and met their eyes by turn. They’d told him, in hushed voices, that the Firelord was busy and wasn’t seeing anyone. He had known and it would be proven before the words were out of his mouth.  
I know you’re busy, Azula said I should…  
No. Father would never tolerate him blaming Azula. That would only get them into more trouble.  
Father, I need to speak to you about…  
There was a sudden scrapping of chairs and Zuko started in panic just as his father’s office door slid open and three very old men filed out. They stopped and stared at Zuko expectantly.  
“Were you waiting to speak to your father, Prince Zuko?” one of them said solemnly. Hearing his advisors words, Firelord Ozai appeared in the doorway.  
“What do you want, Zuko?” he asked, scowling.  
“My apologies father,” Zuko began, then realised he had nothing for which to apologise and continued quickly.  
“I’m…concerned about my progress,” he didn’t dare bring up his own difficulties with bending in front of these men, “with Master Wang Vaan and was wondering if you could find the time to attend my lesson tomorrow.”  
His father’s face was already darkening before he’d even finished, however it was one of the advisors who spoke first.  
“As Firelord, you would do well to take an interest in your heir’s education,” the man who had spoken to Zuko intoned, turning a face like a carved tree to Ozai.  
“Yes,” added the man next to him, straightening his tiny withered frame as he spoke.  
“A chain is only a strong as its weakest link. A dynasty only survives until a weak man is overthrown,” Ozai gave each of his advisors a glare before turning to his son.  
“Very well,” he said grudgingly, already retreating back into the gloom of his office.  
“Thank-you father,” Zuko replied, feeling suddenly lightheaded as he bowed to the closing door. The advisors regarded him for a moment before nodding respectfully and making their way off down the hall. 

Zuko lay awake and stared up at nothing.  
The fear of simply asking had utterly blinded him to the horrible result should his father actually agree to his request. His father, the Firelord, was going to come and watch him learn beginner’s forms. How could he have been so stupid?  
All Azula wanted was their father to come and watch her. She’d known where asking would, in all likelihood, lead so she’d gotten him to do it for her. And like the idiot he was he’d fallen or it.  
Zuko sat up and went to the curtains, pulling them open to let the pail predawn light enter his room.  
Close enough.  
Despite lying awake most of the night in a cold sweat, Zuko didn’t feel the least tired as he pulled on his training clothes. He would practice, he would practice till he bled and then at least he wouldn’t fail the twenty-eighth.  
Standing, Zuko crossed his room and slid the door open, slipping out past the guards who closed in quietly behind him. The Crown Prince stopped dead.  
The guards!  
Biting his lip, Zuko turned and eyed the two men standing like statues outside his bedroom door. There were two more for Azula as well; more than enough should someone decide to attack.  
Tiptoeing, Zuko backtracked. One of his own would be better, he could make a better case for that if it came to it.  
Silently, Zuko looked the two men charged with his life up and down. There was no apparent difference between them or indeed any of the guards. It was a tactic used to prevent them protecting their own during combat. They couldn’t even tell the difference between each other.  
Randomly selecting the man on the right, the young prince beckoned. The guard hesitated for a moment, then followed him a little way down the hall.  
“Can you come train with me?” he whispered, looking up at the stranger, who stood at least two feet taller than him. The man hesitated.  
“I’m not allowed to leave my post, Prince Zuko,” he replied uncertainly.  
“But I’m your prince,” Zuko argued, “surly I’m more valuable than my own room. And besides, if you tell your commander it was my request he can’t really punish you, can he?” On this last point Zuko wasn’t sure. Exactly how his rank compared to those of the army wasn’t something he’d ever bothered to enquire about.  
“I…” the guard stammered.  
“I swear, if you need me to, I’ll go to my father and tell him it’s not your fault, that I ordered you to accompany me,” in that moment Zuko really meant it. He wouldn’t let this man suffer for helping him.  
“All right,” the guard agreed carefully, “but my shift ends in an hour,” he left the sentence hanging but Zuko replied quickly, already turning in the direction of the training yard.  
“I won’t keep you later than that,” Zuko assured him, before hurrying off, the guard trailing along behind him.  
The man’s surprise was audible, even through his helmet, when he heard what Zuko wanted.  
“The twenty-ninth beginner’s form?” he clarified. Zuko nodded, flushing at the incredulity in the man’s voice.  
“You know I’m not a master, I haven’t finished the advanced set…” he trailed off as Zuko nodded a second time.  
“May I ask why, Prince Zuko?” the young prince looked away.  
“Because my father is coming to watch my lesson today,” he replied softly. The guard was silent for a moment and Zuko found himself wishing the man would remove his helmet so Zuko could see his face.  
“Show me the twenty-eighth then,” he said finally. Zuko obeyed without a word, his face glowing when the guard nodded his praise.  
Zuko mastered most of the twenty-ninth form within fifteen minutes, the majority being only combinations of familiar moves. The crescent-moon kick appeared twice and Zuko grinned each time he managed it. The culmination move took longer.  
“Perhaps if you were to begin the thrust while turning, Prince Zuko,” the guard suggested, as Zuko turned and wobbled as he scorched the ground for the tenth time.  
“It’s just practice,” Zuko said, resuming his starting position and struggling not to think about his father coming to watch this.  
“That is very true, my prince,” the guard agreed, “may I say you learn very quickly.”  
Even if you are miles behind.  
Zuko could practically hear the words.  
He spun, his leg darting out to catch him and his hands bringing forward a burst of flames.  
“Imagine you are aiming at the feet of your captor,” the guard suggested. Zuko took his stance and repeated the turn, making a conscious effort to aim at a space just above the ground. This time he wobbled noticeably less.  
The guard nodded and Zuko smiled self-consciously. By the time the gong rang, calling the man away to his home and family, Zuko could make the turn without too much difficulty.  
He returned to the twenty-eighth as soon as people begun filing in for morning lessons, Azula giving him a confused look as she finally spotted him, her own guards having told her the price had risen early that morning.  
“Take your horse stance!” Wang Vaan barked as he strode across the training yard. In the wake of the guard and Azula’s training, Zuko was struck by how angry the man truly looked, his moustaches bristling and thick torso stretching the fabric of his doublet. He looked like an angry rhino.  
“What you are staring at you blathering fool, you call yourself a Prince?” he yelled. Zuko still didn’t move.  
“No,” he replied levelly, staring up at the man.  
“You call me ‘Prince,’” his master’s eyes widened but before he could respond there was a flurry of turning heads and the Firelord, still glaring at his son for wasting his time in this way, entered the training yard.  
“Very well Prince Zuko, begin,” he growled, crossing his arms as he eyed the pair before him.  
Zuko lowered himself into the horse stance.  
“Now kick up you fool,” Wang Vaan growled, all be it in more subdued tones. Zuko smoothly performed the move as Azula had shown him.  
“No you idiot, kick up!” Vaan yelled, cuffing him across the side of the head and sending him sprawling.  
“What is your name?”  
Zuko looked up to see his father gazing impassively at the startled man.  
“Wang Vaan, my lord,” his master replied uncertainly.  
“And which form are you teaching my son?” he asked.  
“The twenty-eighth beginner’s, sir,” he said.  
“And which move?” his father asked again, his voice becoming dangerously even.  
“The last, sir,” Vaan said, beginning to look concerned.  
“Zuko, demonstrate the twenty-eighth form,” he ordered, not taking his eyes from the man before him.  
Not daring to reply, Zuko hurried to obey, carefully performing each motion as Azula had taught it to him. When he was finished both men were staring at him, Wang looking shocked and horrified. Zuko almost hoped his father would ask for the twenty-ninth. He didn’t.  
“My son does not appear to need your tutelage,” he turned back to the now very pale Master Wang Vaan.  
“You may go,” the man bowed low and began walking quickly away.  
“Oh, I had almost forgotten,” the Firelord called sarcastically before he had gone three paces. Wang Vaan turned, trembling, to face the still eerily calm man who smiled coldly at him.  
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.  
“You are Firelord, m-my lord,” Vaan stammered.  
“And do you know who that is?” he asked pointing to Zuko.  
“Your s-son, my lord,” Vaan replied, visibly paling.  
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Ozai drawled sarcastically.  
“Which means that any disrespect shown to him is also, by extent, disrespect shown to me,” Firelord Ozai paused and in the interval, Zuko could feel the heat washing off his father limbs.  
“Tell me, have I ever granted you permission to beat the Crown Prince?” he asked, staring down at the quailing man before him.  
“N-n-no, m-my lord, please have-” Vaan began.  
“No, I didn’t think I had,” Ozai cut through his stammered pleas, “because beating the Prince for his utter lack of application to his bending,” here he shot Zuko a look that made the prince inadvertently flinch away from his father's gaze, “frequently and with grate force, is a privilege I reserve for myself, because, as you say, he is my son.”  
Wang Vaan dropped to the pavement and began openly begging for his life.  
“Get up,” Ozai snarled, letting the façade of calm drop like a lead ball. Vaan complied hesitantly, staring up at the Firelord with unconcealed terror.  
“Now get out of my palace!” he growled.  
Wang Vaan ran.  
Ozai turned to his son and slapped him across the face.  
“Stop smirking and go eat you breakfast,” he spat before turning and storming off. Zuko bowed to his father’s retreating back.  
But he couldn’t for the life of him, wipe the grin from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but due to school work overload, there may be a bit of a lapse between this chapter and the next.


	5. This is just for tonight

The taste of red cloth had grown rancid and in the half-hour the Zuko had lain with his bruised palms against his bed, biting down on the sheets. There was actual blood on his skin this time, he’d found the stains on his shirt after he’d removed it when his father finally allowed him to return to his room. The cloth had only been touching his back for the minuet and a half it took to walk from the firelord’s office but in that time it had attained a constellation of bright red spots.   
Perhaps they would make him a new one from the rest of his coverlet after he’d finished chewing a sizable chunk from the soft muslin.   
Zuko laughed at the thought, the sound oddly synonymous with the heavy heaving sobs that had eventually ceased their rape of his battered frame some minuets passed.   
“People will think you’re losing it if you do that.”  
Letting the sodden chunk of cloth fall from his mouth Zuko pushed himself up onto his elbows, trying not to wince as the motion disturbed his bruised flesh and caused the merlot scabs forming over some of the worst welts to crack with a sound like the crushing of a dead leaf under his boot. His sister’s pale face rose into view, her sable hair tied at the back of her neck and a crimson silk robe tied over her night shirt.   
Zuko lowered his head back to his pellet, shifting to avoid the wet patch he’d just created.  
“It’s the middle of the night,” he pointed out.  
“The only people who are going to hear are the ones sneaking into my room to kill me.”  
Azula snorted, the sound alerting him to the fact that she had moved towards the bed a moment before she seated herself next to him.   
There was a moment of awkward silence during which both children struggled with what to say in this unfamiliar situation. Outside, the moon peaked its head over the horizon and a single bean of its silver light fell on the prince’s thin drapes and dispersed itself gently through the room.   
“I brought you this,” Azula said quietly, holding up a jar of something that smelled of water and herbs.   
“Don’t think I’m giving it to you,” she added hurriedly, determined not to be sentimental, even for a moment, “you’ll have to buy some of your own tomorrow, there’s a woman who sells it down in the market.”  
Zuko started slightly as he felt his sister’s fingers gently touch his blazing skin, cool with the contents of the jar.  
“This is just for tonight,” she emphasised, her fingers making small circles on his welted flesh.   
“Thanks,” he replied softly, no more comfortable then her.  
The silence returned with a vengeance as Princess Azula rubbed salve into her father’s labours. At some point, it finally occurred to Zuko to wonder why his sister would have something like this, a train of thought that blossomed into a sudden wealth of compassion for his younger sibling. He’d always had his mother to protect him before, and the worst he’d ever gotten from his father was a spanking for throwing a tantrum in public or that time he’d accidently set their beach house on fire. But Ursa had always been cold towards her daughter, disliking her mocking attitude and irreverent comments; not to mention her inheritance of their father’s extraordinary talents as a bender. Zuko had never needed to keep a salve in his room but…  
“Azula,” Zuko began hesitantly.  
“What?” he sister replied, and her brother could tell she was struggling to maintain her usual level of derision.   
“I’m sorry for what I said to you,” he didn’t have to specify.   
Azula’s ministrations stilled, then after a moment she stood.  
“Don’t get soft, Zuzu,” she shot over her shoulder as she slipped out of his room.   
Zuko didn’t go after her. His sister wasn’t that kind of girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is short but I felt that Zuko and Azula's relationship needed to be addressed before I moved on and I didn't want to detract from that with other stuff. As always, please comment if you have any thoughts on how the story could be improved.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to apologise for all the spelling and grammar errors you just read, I'm famously grammar blind but if you'd like to point them out in the comment* section I'd be happy to go back and correct them. *(I had the word comment in there for over a week before I noticed)


End file.
